I adjusted my grip on the strap of my duffle bag. I stood just outside the dock dressed in black jeans and a medium-blue lightweight sweater I borrowed from Quistis--Hyne, I hated plain clothes--and I could see Marshal talking to one of the mechanics. He wore khaki shorts and some demon-red t-shirt.
I glared, my eye narrowing as I muttered and plotted against Seifer and tried to ignore the twisting in my gut at the prospect of contact--I pressed my lips together and stalked forward, my gaze remaining warily focused on Marshal's face. Damn you, Seifer.
Seifer had always pushed. Even when I had 'met' him on a phone call. He had called the wrong number and demanded I get someone who didn't even live there. Some friend of his. He wouldn't listen when I tried to explain, or else he just didn't get it. At eight years of age we'd both been damned idiots. I scoffed. Yeah. I thought Dad loved me. He loved me all right. Loved me up real good.
I spat and tightened the grip on the duffel to prevent the cringe.
Marshal sent a quick glance my direction and then did a double-take, mouth stopped mid-word. He looked away and adjusted his feet, rubbing the back of his neck as he swore. I actually smirked. It was nice to know he looked forward to the trip and the company as little as I did.
I came to stand a safe distance from him. "MARSHAL."
He cleared his throat and sent me a brief glance and an even briefer smile. "Hey, Fujin. Tranz is ready." He motioned behind him to the transport with a jerk of his thumb and another quick glance toward me. "Let's get going."
I stepped past him without a word and entered the transport. Marshal outranked me, which meant he would be in charge. Damn you to hell, Seifer. I stowed my gear roughly against the bench and sat down next to it, crossing legs and arms as I glared at the blank viewer to my left. I heard the scuff of shoes on the stairs then ramp, Marshal's dialogue with the pilot, and then the clearing of Marshal's throat moments before he stepped inside. The door shut firmly behind him. Hearing that felt a lot like the sound of my dad fitting the keys into the lock--I adjusted my crossed arms and pressed my lips together.
Marshal sat across from me and produced a folder. He handed it forward. "Here's your backstory."
I stared at it coldly before I even made a move. When I began reading through it, bile gurgled in my throat. Oh Hyne. The transport shifted as it pulled out of the dock. I clenched my free hand into a fist to keep from bolting.
"I came up with this after a dialogue with Sally once I read her report."
I closed the folder and just stared at it.
He cleared his throat again. "Based on reported interactions--hell. Fujin, we can change the backstory. Seifer should have told me who he assigned as my partner. Punk probably thought it'd be funny seeing you beat the shit out of me."
I tossed the folder to the seat beside me, again adjusting my crossed arms as I stared at the blank viewscreen. "FINE."
"Why don't we change--"
I focused a hard stare on him. "FINE," I pressed.
Marshal leaned slightly forward, his silver eyes holding my cold stare as easily as Seifer would. The fact pissed me off. "Fujin, we can change it. It's not a big deal. You being, say, a sister just out of the hospital will hold just as much sway as us being" his ears pinked "newly engaged and looking for a place. Considering certain things, I think we better."
Change it. Why? Because putting on a show like that would drive me over the edge? I clenched my jaw. It was a weakness, and that pissed me off, too. Seifer knew it would. Bastard. "NO." I had to do my job. That was all I had left. Everything else had gone to hell. I had to do my job.
Marshal frowned. "Fujin, Hyne, stop being such a hard-ass. There's no way in hell you're going to let me lay a hand on you, and how is that going to convince anyone that we're so damned 'in love'?" He scoffed and sat back in his seat with crossed arms.
Then he looked over at me again. He leaned forward as before, but this time he put his hand on my knee. I reacted without thinking, grabbing his wrist to twist his hand and arm into a very painful position. He gasped and grimaced, but he met my startled/angry gaze head on. I released his wrist.
He rubbed his newest injury as he regarded me. "Yeah, Fujin. We are just so in love."
I continued to glare as I crossed my arms again. "DUTY." This was my job. I had to do it. I couldn't let my dad take that away. He had taken everything else.
Marshal actually laughed. "You think acting in love with an ass like me is your duty? Hell no! Tracking down the punks plotting against Garden is what we're doing. And we can do that being brother/sister same as we can do it any other way."
But who would believe him to be my brother? And how big a difference was it to treat him as such or act like--I clenched my jaw and extended my hand. "RING." I could do it. I could do anything that proved Daddy wrong.
Marshal regarded me with a serious expression. "We can't be half-assed, Fujin," he said carefully, "and I can't promise I won't do something spontaneous if our butts are on the line."
I fought back the dread and the terror and just stared at him. Go to hell, Daddy. "RING."
He chuckled as he dug into the side pocket of his khaki's and pulled out a small platinum band with a bluish-white gem. "Hell if I knew a girl would be demanding a ring from me." He held the ring in one hand and gestured with the other for me to give him mine. "Don't have much luck with the ladies. Sally says it's because I work too much. Dincht says it's my face."
I regarded his hand with a dark and cold glare, one side of my face twitching with the intensity of the throb in my scarred eye. 'This's the only loving up you'll get, you little cu--' I twitched, and the rage boiled my brain as I reached my hand out and placed it in his. The touch of his skin on mine made my insides crawl, but I fought it back. Almost desperate.
"I don't know. I like my face. Nothing scary like Raijin." Marshal laughed and slipped the ring onto my finger. I felt his occasional glances before he let it go. I balled the hand into a fist and tucked it tightly under my crossed arm as I looked away. Revenge would be sweet.
"All right then. Backstory. Right." Marshal cleared his throat. "I think it'll need a little tweaking to explain some things. For example, if you'll notice in your history you used to work at a bookshop in Deling owned by your parents. We met at a book-club held at the shop and started dating thereafter. I think we better change it a bit to explain your eye. Why don't you let me take a look at it."
I looked over at him sharply. Marshal didn't lean back. He only motioned to my patch.
"Your eye. I need to see what will fit best as a backstory."
Explain my eye. How could anyone explain that? How could anyone believe what it stood for? Hell. Rage. A twisted relationship I had to survive. I tightened my balled fists and slowly uncrossed my arms. My entire head throbbed as I reached up to remove the leather patch.
"Okay," he said, almost matter-of-fact as he gave a slight nod. "That's not so bad to explain. Here. Give me the patch. You won't need it."
I blinked and asked "What" as the terror and rage halted and took a step back.
"Your patch, your patch." He took it from my hand and stuffed it into his shorts' side pocket.
I twitched and just stared at him.
Marshal looked up again. "Scarring's not that bad. The white of your eye's pretty cool, especially with the silver hair. Don't sweat it."
I stared at him--I glared.
He raised his hands in defense. "What? The patch won't jive with your 'shy, bookworm' persona. Just comb your hair down in front of the eye a little more. Here." He motioned to my head. "I'm gonna fix your hair."
I pressed my lips together, and I could feel my body go rigid as his fingers carefully brushed my hair into my face just enough to cover my eye. I fought back a shiver.
"There. See? Plays on that whole 'shy' thing. My sis always wore. . .her. . . ." He cleared his throat and sat back. "So, yeah, it'll work great. I'll give you your patch back later.
Right now we'll leave it here on the transport."
Marshal turned and dug into a pack separate from his duffel. "I brought some cliff notes for your favorite genre of books--Oh. Your parents sold the bookshop and went on a cruise around the world in a yacht they bought with the money. The details are in your backstory." He straightened and presented the books. "Read up on these, especially the real-life stories of the author's. You're in to that."
I roughly took the books and started skimming through the first one. Historical dramatizations. Not one of my favorite things.
"I'm a freelance photographer," he offered up an expensive camera, "and we've been living at my apartment together for about four months, since your parents went on their little jaunt around the world. You're writing a novel or two and have a few stories published through Timber Maniacs. We're planning to buy the house on the proceeds from your novel's advance royalty check and the money we've saved this far. We've been saving since we started dating seriously eight months ago."
Marshal retrieved a small photo-album from his pack. I focused on it with a sinking feeling. "We're going to stop at select places en-route and take pictures of us together wearing different outfits and in different supposed climates. I hope you brought a swimsuit, because for our six-month anniversary I took you to that snazzy beach over by Dincht's orphanage. That's our first stop."
I set down the stack of books and stood, turning to exit the transport's cabin without a word. Once on deck I leaned heavily over the side and closed my eyes, breathing in deep to push back the nausea. It didn't work.